Spare a Septim
by talktoanaveragejoe
Summary: After the assassination of Titus Mede II, the Empire is let crippled and leaderless. Someone believes it is time for a new dynasty to rise. Or rather, time for an old Dynasty to be reborn.
1. Prologue

While he would miss the comforts it offered, Servius Cato was glad to leave the Imperial City behind. The troubles it had brought into his life far outweighed his desire to remain and the assassination of Titus Mede II proved to be the final nail in the coffin of his home. A scholar by nature normally finds respite from the world behind stone walls, but White Gold Tower looked more and more like a tombstone to him now and the walls that he once thought protected him were quickly becoming a cage. The cart trundled up the Silver Road towards Bruma, and would eventually go beyond into Skyrim, yet another province rife with unrest, crisis and war. It certainly didn't take a scholar to see that the Empire was crumbling - a once superior force had been crushed by the Dominion, were struggling to quell a rebellion of farmhand and ageing veterans and couldn't even protect their own Emperor. Cato was not surprised when the news of the Emperor's assassination arrived. Mede may have thought he was signing away the strength of his Empire to a force he had greatly underestimated, but he was also signing away his life.

Cato still worshipped Talos in secret, like many citizens of the Empire, despite the crushing boot of the Thalmor. Talos was the holy embodiment of the Empire and no threats against his life would ever convince him otherwise. To that end, he hoped to find refuge Whiterun. Jarl Balgruuf's neutral stance on the ongoing conflicts invited a man like himself - one opposed to the tyranny of the Aldmeri Dominion, yet supportive of what the Empire used to be at it's height. To him, one event stood out as the downfall of what could have been the Empire's ongoing Golden Age.

He saw the Septim Dynasty as more than a lineage of great rulers. Their reign had the support of the Gods themselves. Tiber Septim had risen from mortality into the heavens becoming a God himself, and Martin Septim became an Avatar of Akatosh to banish Mehrunes Dagon back to Oblivion. Martin's sacrifice may have saved the Empire from certain destruction, yet Cato couldn't help but feel that it also began it's fall. With no Emperor of the Dragonblood to sit on the Empire's throne, the Ruby Throne soon came to belong to the Warlord with the strongest sword-arm - a far cry from the rulers that came before him. Titus Mede was more than unfit to rule a stable Empire, and the Empire fell further into unrest under the rule of him and his successors.

Cato had little time to dwell on the past, however. The Empire was entering it's darkest hour, and another Mede ruling them would serve little purpose besides advancing the sands of time. To him, the Mede Dynasty was at an end, and a new one should take it's place.

_ Perhaps new is wrong,_ he thought as the cold winds from the Jerall Mountains carried snow down from their peaks. _Now is not the time for a new line of false Emperors._ He leafed thought the documents and reports from Skyrim. He was not worried by the Dragons that had arrived from nowhere, solely because of the one who was destroying them. He thought the Dragonblood had not died with Martin Septim. It raged on in the veins of someone else, someone who might be the one to rebuild the Empire from its ashes.

The Dragonborn.

Or, as Cato had scrawled on his notes, the Last Septim.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

The Dragonborn once again entered Whiterun. The guards that had once reluctantly opened the gates to him now opened them with reverence and humility. While many requested his help, today any requests were all but ignored as he made his way to the Grey Mare. Once inside, he unravelled a leather bound pouch, withdrew a parchment bearing the Imperial Seal.

"A room?" asked Hulda from behind the counter. She wiped a circle of mead left by a cold tankard before resting her arms on its surface. "Or if you need food, I'll have Saadia make something."

"No" he said to her. "An Imperial courier gave this to me." He held out the letter, clearly showing the seal to her. "I am supposed to meet Servius Cato?"

"Oh, of course." She pointed to the stairs leading upwards. "He's been here for the last few days. Just head upstairs." The Dragonborn nodded his thanks and went to meet this Cato. He was stopped on the top step by a man clad in a skin of steel.

"No visitors." he mumbled. The Dragonborn held out the letter for him to take. The guard eyes flicked over the parchment, then studied the Dragonborn. He handed back the parchment, then opened the door.

The Dragonborn found his eyes resting on a short, grey haired Imperial, his nose buried in a book with countless others scattered on the floor around him. The Dragonborn cleared his throat, and the man looked up. His green eyes were weary and old but carried a spark of hope they they met each others gaze.

"Are you…?" he asked, abandoning his book.

"The Dragonborn, yes" he replied. "I received your letter." Cato stood in front of him, regarding him with an awe he was now used to.

"You may be more than just Dragonborn, my friend." Cato started scrabbling around the room, collecting a roll of parchment, his quill and an inkwell. "Please, sit down." The Dragonborn unbuckled his sheath and leant it beside a chair, placed his shield next to it and sat down. He had done the routine before, and was certain he would be out to collect a dusty book or ancient amulet before dusk. He let out a sigh.

"And what do you want me to do?"

"Nothing but answer a few questions for me, my friend." Cato sat opposite and dipped his quill. He scratched out a few words then looked again into the Dragonborn's eyes. "What is your name?"

"Aesir" he replied. The quill scratched it onto the parchment.

"A family name?"

"No."

"Not yet, at least" Cato said through a smile.

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing, nothing. Now, have you ever been to Cyrodiil?" Aesir paused. He had, once, and it felt like a lifetime ago now. Crossing the border back into Skyrim had set of the chain of Prophecy that guided him into the man he was today.

"Yes, once."

"Were you born there?" asked Cato. There was excitement in his voice.

"No."

"You … weren't?" Cato had become disappointed. The hope had drained from his face.

"No, I was born here, in Skyrim."

"Was your mother and Imperial?"

"No"

"Your father?"

"No"

"Grandparents?" Cato was almost furious now, as though a hunger had consumed him.

"No" Aesir replied. He waited for another question, but only the faint sound of Mikael's singing drifted up to them. "What is this about?" he finally asked.

"It was supposed to be about you!" Cato cried. "You fulfilled the Prophecy of the Elder Scrolls, they told me! Yet here you are, without an ounce of Septim in you!"

"If this is about gold…"

"Not coin, you fool. _The _Septims! Gods and Emperors!"

"You think I am a Septim?"

"Not any more! And now all hope is lost for the Empire." Cato stopped to breathe and slumped back in his chair. "It is not a letter that brought you here, but fate.

"Tamriel is falling. The Empire is but a shadow of its former glory and lies without an Emperor. The Aldmeri Dominion has risen from its own ashes and is bent on conquest and war. Skyrim wishes itself free from Imperial shackles and Dragons return to plague its lands. Yet, from darkness, the Gods send a Hero to save us. You. The immortal soul of a dragon rests in you, Dragonborn, and the Dragon Blood flows through your veins. Where men have failed before, you succeeded in devouring Alduin's soul. Men have failed in protecting the Empire, and I thought it had fallen to you protect it. I thought that with you on the throne, you would bring order back to the Empire. But I was wrong, and now there is no-one left. My resources have been exhausted, and I have nothing to show for it."

Aesir shifted in his chair.

"Maybe not," he said, leaning forward. "You found me."

"And you are not what I have been looking for, Aesir."

"No, but you still found me. Maybe you don't need to look for a Septim to find one."

"What are you talking about? The heir to the throne isn't just going to approach me in the streets."

"Do you have a copy of 'The Oblivion Crisis?"

"Yes, somewhere in here," Aesir stood and started rummaged through the books on the floor. "But it's useless.I don't need to know how Martin Septim died." Aesir found the book and flipped through its pages. He stopped on one, skimmed the page then turned it to Cato.

"So who is this?" he asked, pointing to a sentence on the page.

"The Hero of Kvatch? He was a nobody, just a prisoner in the wrong cell at the right time."

"Like me, then." Aesir added.

"Yes, I suppose. But why does it matter?"

"From what I understand," Aesir said, "this Hero was one of Martin's only and closest friends. If Martin were to tell anyone a secret…"

"It would be him." Cato finished. He read the pages of the book. "But the Hero of Kvatch would be long dead."

"His ancestors may not be. If the lead on Martin Septim has run cold, then following a new trail is the best chance we have." Cato remained silent for a while.

"I could try" he finally said. He unrolled some fresh parchment and dipped his quill once more. "I could write a letter to the Imperial City, asking for anything they have on the Hero of Kvatch." He started writing, then stopped. "Thank you, Aesir." He reached into a satchel and pulled out a small pouch. He placed on the table with a gentle clinking. "For your help." Aesir pushed the pouch back towards Cato.

"I haven't finished helping yet," he said. "Maybe you were right. I might be the one to bring order back to the Empire. I don't have to be sat on the throne for that to be true."


End file.
